Chapter Twenty-Nine
It’s well past midnight when I’m awoken with a start by a footman. He’s shaking my shoulder roughly. For a moment I feel like I’m back in the fever dreams of May, but I blink against the sudden light of his lantern and realize I am awake.
“Come with me, miss,”
he commands. He gives me no time to dress, so I follow him, barefoot, in my nightdress, across the wooden floors.
The room is dark, with only the bouncing light of his lantern to see by, but it is unmistakable that Olive’s bed is empty.
I glance across the hall to Faith and Marion’s room. Their beds are empty too, the blankets kicked all over the floor like they were pulled off in a hurry.
“Where are you taking me?”
I fight to keep my voice steady.
He doesn’t answer.
The dew on the lawn is cold on the soles of my feet. The wind whips my unbound hair around my face, but I have no ribbon to tie it back.
Kensington Palace is dark with sleep, but the footman leads me up the main staircase to the throne room, where Queen Mor is waiting for me. I’m reminded of the Pact Parade, walking up these same stairs with my mother by my side. I was frightened then, too. But I’m so much braver now.
“Lady Ivy.”
Queen Mor greets me with a serene smile. “I do always look forward to our time together.”
She’s perfectly dressed as always, in an ink-black lace gown, her neck dripping with pearls.
I don’t want her to know I am afraid. “As do I, ma’am.”
“I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances. I’ve called you here to deliver the news that you have lost.”
“Excuse me—”
I sputter.
“You’ve lost. You have not been selected to be Bram’s bride. It’s over.”
“But I’m winning.”
I say it like a question. Wasn’t I winning? Wasn’t that what the points system was for?
“My decision is final.”
“Will my family be stripped of their titles and their lands?”
“I have no plans for that, currently. But I always reserve the right to change my mind.”
It isn’t quite a relief, but it’s something.
I curtsy once more, too numb to do anything else. “Then I thank you for your time and your hospitality, Your Majesty. Please congratulate the Prince of Wales on his engagement on my behalf.”
I exit the throne room like I’m sleepwalking. I don’t even think to ask who won. Olive, probably. Who knows. It doesn’t matter.
I’ve failed, and so I know what I have to do next.
The footman escorts me down the stairs to the entrance of the palace. Waiting, with its doors open, is a shiny black carriage. “Your things have been packed for you,” he says.
“I’m going to be sick,”
I reply. The footman opens his mouth and closes it, like royal protocol never gave him a script to reply to something like this.
I clutch my stomach. “Please excuse me.”
I make a run for the side of the building, like I’m going to hurl in the bushes, but at the last second I sprint around the corner and up the hill that leads to the orangery.
There are footsteps behind me, but I am quick, and it’s too dark to see properly. The doors to the orangery close behind me, and I’m embraced by the warm humidity of the fruit trees.
I hurry through the tunnels and burst out through the false panel into Emmett’s room out of breath and sweaty. Inside his room it’s dark and quiet, with only dying embers in the fire and Pig and Emmett breathing softly in tandem. He sits up, awake the moment I step in.
“Ivy?”
he asks groggily, running a hand through his hair, wild with sleep.
“I thought you were gone. I heard you were gone.”
My throat is thick with tears that I swallow. I didn’t think he’d be here. I thought I could sit in front of this fire we once built together and feel him, one last time, before I let it all go. See Pig, maybe, if I was lucky. I just needed a moment to breathe before I did what had to be done next.
Emmett never did make anything easy.
He rubs the sleep from his eyes. His torso is bare, revealing his broken collarbone. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,”
I say, but I don’t know if it’s a lie or not.
“You look like a ghost,” he says.
“Why did you leave?”
Me. I leave that part off. Why did you leave me?
He groans and pushes himself more upright. “Because I don’t think I’m strong enough to stick around and watch you win.”
“Why’d you come back?”
“Because I wasn’t strong enough to stay away.”
“I thought you didn’t like me,” I gasp.
He pulls back enough to look me directly in the eye. “Like you? Ivy Benton, I am obsessed with you. It’s going to kill me.”
I lower myself to the edge of his bed, too far to be touching but close enough to feel the heat of him.
“You’re confusing me for someone with strong resolve,” he says.
“Emmett, please.”
I can’t shake the masochistic desire to feel something, even if it’s pain.
My breath catches in my throat. I want him to lean in, pull me closer, do anything other than stare at me like he knows he can undo me.
He jerks his hand back as if he’s been burned. “I can’t touch you.”
My face burns red with embarrassment. “Because I’m Bram’s? Because we’re friends? Because I’m the only one stupid enough to think that night in the coaching inn meant something?”
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly and leans in. “Because if I start touching you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
His brows furrow as he finally looks down at my gauzy white nightdress.
“They pulled me out of bed in the night,”
I explain. “I was just with the queen. I’ve lost.”
“What?”
“We have to—”
But before I can finish, say find Bram, he circles his fingers around my wrist, tugs me toward him, and, in one fluid movement, crushes his lips to mine.
I think of what has come before, not what will come after.
And I kiss him back.
He slips his tongue between the seam of my lips, and I open for him, taking everything he’s willing to give. His hands fist at the hair at the nape of my neck, and he pulls like he can’t have me close enough.
“I’m not strong enough to be under the same roof as you,”
Emmett confesses against my mouth. “I am sick with the knowing I cannot have you.”
I sigh. “You have me now.”
He rolls, caging me in with his arms, and tugs at the ribbons of my nightdress.
He takes both my hands in his and clutches them to his chest, right against his breastbone, where I can feel his heart beating. “We could be together, Ivy.”
“That’s not the plan,”
I say weakly. It would be so easy to give in. “I can never marry.”
“That doesn’t matter to me. We’ll run away. I’ll tell anyone who will listen that you are mine. I’ll shout it from rooftops around the world.”
For a moment I picture us on a ship’s deck, sea spray in our hair, going somewhere far from England.
“You’re a prince.”
He runs a hand along the edge of my jawline. “I never asked for this. But I am asking for you.”
I take a hard look at his face. There are those eyes, the ones from a fever dream. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to sweat him out. “You don’t need to ask. I’m already yours.”
He kisses my temple, the corner of my mouth, my aching collarbones, the side of my rib cage. He rucks up my nightdress, exposing my legs. He kisses the bony joint of my ankle, my knee, the jut of my hip bone. Up and up, higher, to the place where I am aching for him.
“Ivy,”
he whispers against my skin.
I tug my fingers through his dark hair. “Emmett.”
I pull his body closer to mine, needing to find friction, to feel him.
I’ve never experienced wanting like this. I understand now what true desperation is, what could lead someone to trading away parts of themself. Emmett could ask anything of me right now, and I’d give it without hesitation.
His hands rake, white hot, down the length of my bare spine, each vertebra under the pads of his fingers. He sinks his teeth down hard enough to sting at the soft spot between my neck and shoulder, then soothes the wound with gentle licks from his tongue. His mouth trails up the column of my neck to the shell of my ear.
“Do you want to stop?”
he asks against my unbound hair.
“No. I want you.”
He pulls back to look at me. We’re both breathing heavily, and something wordless passes between us.
“I’ve never wanted anything more than the way I want you.” He sighs.
I roll, now on top of him. I need to look at him like this, eyes blown out with wanting, hair a mess all over the pillow. I lower myself down onto him, sinking until we meet, completely. His eyes close in bliss, and I tip my head back, just letting myself adjust to it. “Ivy,”
he whispers. I don’t even know if he realizes he’s talking out loud. I rock against him, agonizingly slow, but it doesn’t soothe the aching, it just drives us both deeper into this frenzy.
Emmett pulls my nightdress off in one fluid motion and cups my breasts with his hands, covering them completely. “Ivy, Ivy.”
There’s just searing need and Emmett everywhere. I drag my hands across his chest, through his hair, taking him, and this throbbing, yearning feeling, again and again. I push up on my knees, and then down until we find a rhythm together. His hands are needy, touching everywhere, and I arch against him. I’ve never been more exposed, but I feel the safest I have ever felt within the walls of this palace.
He’s done this before, even if I haven’t, and I have the vague sense that it should bother me. But we’ve never done this with each other, so it’s new all the same. In every gasp and touch, there is discovery.
He looses a breath and maneuvers me under him. He moves against me, in me, our hearts beating wildly in sync. Finally, he shudders, and we both shatter, fully and completely. The feeling consumes me until I am on fire, burning with him.
For a moment, all we can do is look at each other, panting and starstruck.
I love him. I’ll tell him later, when I can catch my breath.
He pulls me against his sweat-slicked chest and brushes my hair from my eyes. “Are you all right? I didn’t—”
“I’m perfect.”
Emmett smiles down at me, heart-stoppingly handsome. “You are.”
Emmett holds me for a while, but I don’t have long; the footmen will be searching for me and I can’t let them find me here.
I look at Emmett and imagine a life in which I could have been his. But that’s not the life I’ve found myself in.
It’s time. It has to be time.
I slide out of the warmth of his bed, and I want to steal one of his sweaters, but I can’t. Bram can’t know I was here. He can never know what happened tonight.
Emmett watches as I walk across the room to gather my nightdress from where it landed on the floor. “Ivy?”
“I can’t stay,”
I whisper back. I pray he just lets me leave. One more look from him and I’ll break.
“Bram.”
He says the word like it hurts him.
“Bram,”
I say. “I should go to him, now before we’re found out.”
Here it is. Plan B. I must hope he cares about me enough to elope. He told me he’d do anything for me.
Dread and guilt pool in my stomach, and suddenly I feel sick all over. Bram deserves better than this. He’s a kind boy, one who trusts me and has treated me with respect at every turn.
“He’ll be a good husband,”
Emmett says flatly.
“I’m not good enough for him.”
I expect Emmett to protest, but he replies, “Who is?”
I laugh to keep from crying.
“But you will grow to love Bram, I know you will,”
Emmett says. “He is patient and kind, and you will love him just like everyone else does. And I swear it, I will not resent you, but I’ll say it just this once. I would have loved you. I would have loved you so well.”
“I know. I know.”
He needs to hear it twice.
I pad back over to him and take his warm hand in mine. If everything goes according to plan, this will be the last time I ever touch him.
Emmett looks up at me. “I’ll be in hell when I see you on his arm, when I picture you in his bed, but I will watch, and I will burn for the rest of my life if this is the only way I get to have you,” he says.
“You’ll find someone too.”
I already hate the faceless girl I picture by his side in a white dress. I hope she’ll be beautiful and clever and absolutely nothing like me.
He shakes his head. “I think it was always going to be you for me.”
“Don’t say that,”
I murmur. “You never would have seen me. I would have been just another wallflower at a ball.”
He wrinkles his nose a little as he shakes his head. “I would have seen you.”
My chest hitches. I can’t cry. Not yet.
“Do you want me to convince you not to go?”
Emmett asks. “Because I will. I will get on my knees.”
“No.”
I reply. “Because it won’t change anything.”
And I know it’s not actually what he wants, not deep down.
Emmett kisses me softly, one last time. “He’s just down the hall. Third door on the right. Good luck.”
He walks me to the door.
“I have to go,”
I whisper, but he’s still holding my hand.
“I know, I know.”
His fingers slip from mine, and it’s over.